


desert rose (or kudu flower)

by RossellyBea



Category: Black Panther (2018), Black Panther (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Black Panther (2018) Spoilers, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Porn, M/M, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-03 20:53:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RossellyBea/pseuds/RossellyBea
Summary: After so long he did not really believe he would see the little prince again, but he had to try. He spent the last nine months with that scent in his mind and his heart and Hanuman help himhe was in so much trouble.----------Fourteen-year-old M’Baku met the future king of Wakanda by accident. Choosing not to give his name was deliberate.





	desert rose (or kudu flower)

**Author's Note:**

> This was something that would not let me go, and I am proud of how it turned out. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.
> 
> Note: This fic assumes you have at least seen Black Panther and have a general idea of A/B/O dynamics. Enhanced senses and kind of a soulmate vibe is what I went for.

M’Baku crouched and stared down at the pale body lying in the healer's hut, skin appearing even more gaunt against the white of the snow that covered him. He sighed and leaned back on his heels, closing his eyes. When he was informed that a fisherman had found T’Challa barely clinging to life on the shore of the Jabari river, M’Baku had fiercely resisted the urge to go to him. Instead, he waited until night had fallen and his healers had brought him news of the Kings health. The healers were not optimistic. They did all they could for him, but his injuries were severe. The snow was now the only thing keeping him alive, and even that would not last for long. Now M’Baku was alone with T’Challa, staring down at the face of the great Black Panther, now as weak as a babe. All M’Baku had to do was wrap his hands around his neck, or simply wait and be done with it, but . . . M’Baku rubbed his hand across his face. Just as he knew he would not have killed T’Challa at the end of their fight, he knew he could not do so now. He snorted to himself. He was pathetic.

 

M'Baku fought because he wanted what was best for his country and because he knew his people would not have another chance for the throne. His choice was not, however, an act against T’Challa himself. It never could be, if M’Baku was honest. Staring down at the King, the man, the Omega, he knew long ago that he was doomed from the start.

 

No Wakandan king had visited Jabari in centuries, but that did not mean Jabari Kings had not visited the golden central city of Wakanda; or at least, one future King. M’Baku had been wilful as a child, often doing his best to hide from his lessons and his many minders. The entire city would keep an eye on the chief's son and would report back dutifully, leaving M’Baku with little chance for solitude. Fourteen-year-old M’Baku became frustrated that he could never be alone in his mountain home and began to wish he could visit the golden city, if only to be invisible for a day. It was only after a fight with his father, his newly emerged Alpha instincts at war with his duties and expectations and the constant feel of something buzzing under his skin that he decided to leave. He was gone before first light and walked the two hours to the city, a small satchel on his back stuffed with food, his most ‘conservative’ clothes on his back, and his thinnest cloak about his shoulders. He did not intend to do much but wander and explore, but fate had other plans for him.

 

M’Baku met the future king of Wakanda by accident. His wanderings had taken him close to the palace, and his curiosity had brought him into the palace garden. The sky was overcast but M’Baku knew his cloak would keep him dry enough and the trees would provide additional cover. It was as good a place as any to wait out the inevitable storm. He jumped the garden wall and had been admiring the large collection of plants and flowers when he smelled something mouth-watering. He followed his nose before he realized what he was doing and ran into a boy. The boy was slightly smaller than him, and M’Baku grabbed his arm to steady him on reflex. He blinked in surprise. The boy looked up at him and their gazes held for a long moment, the smell of mangoes and kudu flowers strong in M’Bakus nose. The boy broke his silence first.

 

“Who are you?” The boy asked, curiosity heavy in his tone.

 

“No one.” M’Baku quickly said, letting go of the boys arm the moment he realized he was still holding it.

 

They stared at each other again before M’Baku blurted out; “Why do you smell like that?!”

 

The boy blinked, “Like what?”

 

“Like, like. . .” M’Baku huffed. “Nevermind, It does not matter!” He turned away, intending to leave and find somewhere else to hide from the rain. Anything to get away from the scent that was clouding his mind unlike anything he had ever experienced. As he turned away, the boy grabbed his cloak and held tightly.

 

“My name is prince T’Challa.” The boy said quickly. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

 

M’Baku had been turning back to yank the cloak out of the boy's hand and froze. Of course of all the people he could meet it had to be the actual prince of Wakanda. The first in line who would grow up to be his enemy, and who smelled absolutely delicious. M’Baku decided then and there that he had the worst luck, which was clearly the truth when the sky chose that moment to open and a downpour began almost immediately. The boy yelped in surprise at the sudden torrent of rain. M’Baku grabbed him and pulled him close instinctually, wrapping him in his cloak to shield him from the deluge. He flinched when he received a fresh burst of scent for his trouble. They both stood together for a long moment, silent and still but for the sound of the rain.

 

The boy suddenly blurted, “I know somewhere we can get out of the rain. Come on!” and grabbed M’Bakus hand, quickly pulling him forward. M’Baku stumbled and followed. It was only moments before they found themselves at a small sitting area. A single bench underneath a rocky overhang provided just enough cover from the storm. The boy’s short time without the cloak had soaked him, and he wiped his eyes and tried to move the hair from his face while sitting down on the bench. M’Baku stayed standing, silently watching the boy ( _an Omega who would be the future king!_ ) and debated running off into the downpour regardless. The boy smiled at him and padded the seat next to him.

 

“The rain probably will not let up for a little while,” He said softly. “Won’t you sit with me and wait?”

 

M’Baku could no more say no to that then he could stop breathing, and he hated himself for it. He sat stiffly and did not look at the boy who had turned to face him.

 

“So boy-with-no-name, what were you doing in our garden?”

 

M’Baku snorted. “Your garden? These plants are no more yours than they are mine. They are their own.”

 

The boy was silent for a moment. “I suppose you are right.” He said at last. M’Baku started at the admission. The boy continued, “This garden is on the palace land, but the plants themselves cannot be owned, and we cannot command them. They will grow if they wish, or not. All we can do is give them a place to grow, and offer them the best chance to thrive, but we cannot tell them how to grow, what color to be, or how many flowers should bloom.”

 

After that, M’Baku and the boy were silent again, until M’Baku admitted gruffly, “Yes.” He took a deep breath to speak again but lost what he intended to say the moment he got another fresh whiff of the boy's scent, mangoes and kudu flowers almost overpowering. He shuddered and turned towards the boy without thought and was immediately caught in warm eyes. T’Challa smiled slowly. The rain continued to fall, the shower becoming lighter and lighter as time passed.

 

The boy spoke softly, “You smell . . . “ he trailed off. M’Baku blinked, trying to remove the haze from his mind caused by the boy's sweet scent.

 

Finally he registered what the young prince said. “I smell?” He asked, indignant.

 

The boy laughed. “Good. You smell good. Like warmth and woodsmoke and . . .” He looked away for a moment and then suddenly turned back, eyes bright with something M’Baku could not recognize.

 

“Are you sure you won’t tell me your name?” The boy asked. His hand was on M’Bakus in the next moment, fingers intertwining. M’Baku looked down at their interlocked fingers and knew he was in more trouble than he’d ever been in his life.

 

He looked up at the boy and swallowed. “I do not think telling you is a good idea.” He stood up to leave as the rain had lightened to barely a drizzle but kept the boys hand held in his for a moment longer. The boy looked up and squeezed his hand, as though he did not want M’Baku to let go. “Will I see you again?” He asked pleadingly.

 

M’Baku looked at him and answered truthfully. “Yes.”

 

In that moment, before M’Baku could look too closely at his actions, he bent down and placed a light kiss on the future king's hand. Then he let go and _ran._

 

**=====**

M’Baku knew he would see the little prince again, but feared it would be too soon. He arrived home to a dozen angry tribesmen who had spent the day looking for him, including his father. He apologized, and it would be six months before anyone would let up on their constant vigilance of him. Another three before he convinced them to let him have a day on his own. His father was stern but knew his son was growing and wanted time to find himself. The responsibilities that M’Baku would soon have would be a heavy burden, and after much thought, the Chief decided that allowing a little freedom would be better now, before true responsibility was placed on his shoulders. His father made M’Baku promise as long as these day outings were not too frequent (and if he told someone he was going to do it, unlike last time) that he could go out on occasion. Of course, if his father had realized exactly where M’Baku intended to go, M’Baku was sure he wouldn’t be allowed to leave his room until his thirtieth year.

 

He allowed his father to believe that he wished to walk the paths on the outskirts of their city, and promised that he would not go far. He had planned to do that, he swore he had, but the minute he was out of his city’s sight his feet carried him back to the golden garden of their own volition. He knew why, and knew there was no help for it.

 

After so long he did not really believe he would see the little prince again, but he had to try. He spent the last nine months with that scent in his mind and his heart and Hanuman help him  _he was in so much trouble._

 

He spent the day within the garden walls. Keeping out of sight, he explored the many pathways and admired the different flowers and plants, trying to distract himself from the hope that he would smell that scent again. As the day passed and the sun began to make its descent, his hope faded with the light. He finally sat on the same bench as before and watched the sunset in the distance, the light reflecting off of the glittering skyscrapers towering above him. As the last of the sun slipped past the horizon he sighed, standing up and turning to head back to the wall. Taking one last deep breath he suddenly stiffened. He clamped down on the urge to smile ( _stupid, stupid_ ) and slowly turned toward the scent, breathing it in. He heard a rustle in the trees and a moment later out stepped the little prince, dressed in black from head to foot, Vibranium silver threads showing simple designs on his throat. M’Baku resisted the urge to growl.

 

They stared at one another for a moment before a small smile flitted across T’Challa’s lips. “It’s you.” He murmured. “I did not think you would return.”

 

“I should not have,” M’Baku admitted. “But I . . . “

 

T’Challa’s smile widened. “Me too.” The little prince said softly. “Me too.”

 

**=====**

 

M’Baku continued to visit the prince once a month. Always the same day and time, and T’Challa was always there to meet him. T’Challa never asked for his name, and M’Baku was grateful. He often wondered how T’Challa was always able to get away, but he was too selfish to question it. They would often spend the entire day together, talking about everything and nothing. Simply being in each others presence was enough. Years past like this, and the closer they both reached to maturity, the more difficult it became. M’Baku would often have to wash in the stream before heading home, as T’Challa’s scent would cover him. His little prince would wrap him in his scent until he could smell nothing but _them_. He felt owned, _claimed_ , and it both terrified and excited him.

 

Soon the eve of M’Baku’s eighteenth birthday was upon him and his responsibilities and expectations would change. He would take up the mantle of Chief ( _of King_ ) as his father's health was deteriorating. He would no longer be able to leave and spend his days with his little prince. Today was the last meeting day before his ceremony, and he knew it would be the day he would have to tell T’Challa that he would not be coming back. He had been avoiding this conversation for months because he knew it would be the hardest thing he would ever do. He also knew in his heart that he may not be able to do it, and was terrified he would do something incredibly stupid. He stiffened his spine at the thought and took a deep breath of mountain air, strengthening his resolve.

 

He waited until the sun was already setting before heading to the garden, not wanting to have this conversation early in the day. As he walked into the clearing ( _their clearing_ ) T’Challa stood quickly from his seat, a frown on his face.

 

“Are you alright? You are late.”

 

M’Baku swallowed. “I am fine.” They looked at each other for a long moment before T’Challa walked over and raised his hand, palm out. Normally M’Baku would place his hand in his and twine their fingers together. M’Baku almost laughed at how far gone he was. He shook his head and the little prince slowly lowered his hand.

 

“There is . . . something I must tell you.” M’Baku said softly. “Please sit.” T’Challa slowly walked back to their bench and sat down, eyes never straying from M’Bakus form.

 

M’Baku stood before his little prince and opened his mouth to speak, and felt the words stick in the back of his throat. Things had to be said, but he did not have the voice to say them. In the end, he fell to his knees and pressed his head to T’Challa’s legs. He placed his hands on his thighs, doing his best to resist the urge to touch. He took a deep breath and did everything he could to memorize the scent he knows he will not smell again for some time. The dreams he may have harbored in his heart of hearts, no matter how foolish and unlikely, had still been there until this moment, but he had his duties, and so did T’Challa. His King. His little prince. It would already be difficult for an Omega to be King, even in a country as progressive as their own; but a suitor, an Alpha King from an exiled and isolated tribe would never be tolerated.

 

He stiffened when he felt hands gently carding through his hair, and lifted his head up to look in the eyes of his King. His . . .

 

Hanuman give him strength.

 

“I will not be returning.” He finally stated, voice as flat and unemotional as he could make it. T’Challa stopped and pulled his hands away, looking directly into his eyes.

 

“I have been lying to you,” He continued, “and I can do it no longer. This has been . . . time that I will always treasure, but my own obligations mean that this can no longer continue. Your obligations as well would have soon made this impossible.” T’Challa opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it. They looked at each other for a long while, the smell of woodsmoke and kudu flowers blending together into something distinctly _them._

 

He would miss this.

 

“You are right,” T’Challa said softly. “You are right, as much as I believe we have been avoiding it. I am next in line for the throne, and you have known this since the day we met. It has been . . . wonderful to spend time with someone who sees me as I am, rather than as a prince first. And I will not forget it.”

 

“You should know,” M’Baku began and T’Challa cut him off, placing his hand over his mouth to stop his speech. M’Baku gasped and closed his eyes, breathing in the scent so close, mouth watering for a taste. T’Challa swallowed audibly and slowly pulled his hand away, muttering an apology even as a fresh bloom of scent filled the air around them, making M’Baku shiver and swallow the saliva pooling in his throat. The feel of his canines lengthening; the urge to bite, to claim and be claimed as only an Alpha and Omega can was sudden and almost overwhelming. M’Baku whined and pushed himself away quickly, hoping to avoid doing something unforgivable. T’Challa stood and almost moved forward, before seeing M'Baku’s gasping breaths and the glint of canines far too sharp.

 

“You . . .” T’Challa said, eyes wide. “You want . . .” He placed his hand on his throat absently.

 

M’Baku shook his head and placed his head between his knees, hiding his face. Hiding everything. They both stayed silent for a long time.

 

T’Challa looked at the setting sun, soon to be below the horizon and spoke. “Before we lose the sun, before . . . I wish to ask one thing of you.”

 

M’Baku rolled his shoulders and lifted his head to meet T’Challa’s eyes. “What is it?”

 

“Kiss me.”

 

M’Baku recoiled at the request. Not because he did not want it, but because he _did_. He wanted it far too much. “I do not think that is a good idea.”

 

His little prince held his gaze. “I will not ask your name. I have never asked anything of you in all the time I’ve known you. Your company was enough, but if this is to be the last time we see each other, then I am selfish. I ask you not as your prince, or your future King, but as myself. If only once. Please.”

 

M’Baku could never deny him.

 

He stood on shaky legs and walked slowly toward his prince. They stood chest to chest, and T’Challa raised his hand and placed it gently on his cheek, placing the other on his waist. M’Baku kept his hands to his sides, clenched into fists. He knew if he touched him, he would not stop. T’Challa leaned forward slowly and gently placed his lips on M’Bakus, softly brushing them together. M’Baku held stock still and did not respond. T’Challa took that as a challenge and pushed harder, flicking his tongue against M’Bakus lips, asking for permission. M’Baku could do nothing but give it. Soon they were kissing as though they would not survive being apart. Hot and all-consuming, tongues tangling with one another and the smell of woodsmoke and mangoes and kudu flowers overwhelming them both. Gasps and pants and groans were the only sounds that could be heard, and M’Bakus body was shaking with the effort of resisting. The sun passed the horizon, darkness engulfing the city. The gardens lanterns flickered on, just enough to disturb them both. M’Baku yanked away and stumbled back, pressing himself against a nearby tree. They were both breathing heavily, swallowing down the words that they wanted so desperately to say. Finally, T’Challa spoke.

 

“Will I see you again?”

 

M’Baku could not lie.

 

“Yes.”

 

**=====**

It was ten years before they would see each other again. When they finally had the need for an official introduction, when M’Baku was finally able to show the little prince who he truly was, T’Challa’s face revealed absolutely nothing. M’Baku was _not_ disappointed. He was _not._

**=====**

 

After their official introduction, they did not see each other until the fight for the throne, until M’Baku was bested by the one person whom he felt was his equal. Staring down at him now, weak and close to death, M’Baku knew he had little choice. It may have been years, but even with the smell of impending death, the scent of kudu flowers and mangoes still lingered, as did his memories. He had never taken a mate in all his time as Chief (much to the consternation of his council) and while he claimed to have many good reasons for this choice, he knew he only had one.

 

He sighed and stood, decision made. He walked out of the healer's hut and out of the city, heading to an ancient and well-worn path deep into Jabari’s jungles, something clasped tightly in his hand.

**=====**

T’Challa woke with a gasp, lifting himself up and out of the snow to escape the cold. He stumbled and fell hard onto the ground, groaning as his body protested. He was quickly surrounded by others, and as his vision faded and he felt himself collapse he smelled familiar warmth and woodsmoke.

 

When he awoke again he was covered in furs, still mostly nude, voices faintly speaking in the distance. As he blinked and slowly pulled himself up he found his mother, his sister, and Nakia at his bedside.

 

Later, when he stood in front of M’Baku his eyes could not stray from the thick fur that was deliberately covering both of M’Bakus shoulders and neck, a style no other Jabari warrior possessed. A style T’Challa had never seen on any warrior, and it niggled something at the back of his mind. However duty called and he was soon distracted by other matters.

**=====**

M’Baku took great pleasure in denying the King his army but also knew he would come to the King's aid regardless. He would not let an outsider have the throne, and M’Baku would ensure he was stopped. He did admit (if only to himself) that he quite enjoyed the look of shock on his little prince's face when he came to his rescue.

**=====**

 

After it was all over, really over, Shuri came to T'Challa and extended her hand. He looked down in surprise to find a small bracelet covered with intricately carved wooden beads. He looked at her curiously.

 

“You were wearing it when M’Baku showed you to us. After he told us how badly you were hurt, we thought we would have to give you the heart-shaped herb to save your life, but M’Baku told us you were only sleeping, and that you would live. We did not understand it. I still don’t.”

 

T’Challa reached out and gently took the bracelet, running his fingers against the smooth wood, studying the clearly handmade Jabari craftsmanship. He suddenly had a flash of memory; the feel of skin under his lips, the taste of blood, the feel of someone's hands on his wrist and whispered words in his ear. He froze for a moment, and carefully placed the bracelet on his wrist. He then headed back to the Jabari tribe.

 

He was taken to M’Baku immediately upon entering Jabari lands and brought to the same throne room. They both stared at each other for a moment before M’Baku dismissed his guards.

 

“You came here without your precious Dora Milaje? A dangerous decision.” M’Baku remarked, never moving from his throne.

 

Slowly, T’Challa walked toward him, eyes never leaving M’Bakus gaze. Soon he stood directly in front the throne and raised his hand, palm up, just as he had once so long ago. The bracelet was clearly visible. M’Baku startled upon seeing it.

 

“What is this for?” T’Challa asked pointedly. M’Baku stayed silent, but T’Challa was having none of it.

 

“What. is this. For?” He ground out, his mask dropping and frustration evident on his face. M’Baku swallowed and T’Challa saw it.

 

T’Challa changed his tactics and softened his tone. “Please.” He said quietly. “Please.”

 

M’Baku was still for a moment before standing abruptly and walking around T’Challa, ignoring his hand.

 

“It is from a ritual of sorts, something you will consider Jabari nonsense I am sure,” M’Baku muttered, trying to brush off the question.

 

T’Challa reached out quickly, grasping M’Bakus arm before he could walk away. “Tell me.” He bit out, turning himself to look M’Baku eye to eye, now much closer than before.

 

It was quiet as they stared at one another, and M’Baku could not help but be reminded of once long ago, in seemingly another life. Slowly T’Challa raised his other hand and placed it on the fur that was wrapped around M’Bakus neck and shoulders. He slowly grabbed and pulled at the fur, trying to get it to fall. M’Baku reached up and grabbed his hand in his own, stopping him.

 

“You do not want to do that.” M’Baku rasped, pain that had nothing to do with injury evident on his face for less than a second before the stern mask was back in place. He had given too much away however, and now T’Challa knew in that moment that something had happened between them, but did not know what.

  


“I think I do.” He said softly, turning his palm and intertwining his fingers with M’Bakus own. M’Baku visibly shuddered and closed his eyes. T’Challa then slid his other hand up M’Bakus arm up to the fur, and with a bit more pulling was able to cause the fur to fall to the floor. There, where M’Bakus neck met his shoulder, a mating bite was clearly visible. T’Challa snapped his eyes up to meet M’Bakus.

 

“What did you do?” He murmured. “And why don’t I remember it?”

 

M’Baku turned his face away. “You were dying,” He stated flatly. “You were dying and you had no time left, so I did the only thing I could think of.”

 

“And what was that?”

 

“I asked for a boon from Hanuman, in order for you to live. I offered the one thing I had left, the only thing I could in order to give you the strength you needed to survive.” M’Baku would not look at him.

 

“You let me bond myself to you,” T’Challa murmured, eyes wide. “I bonded to you but you did not do the same. You let me take strength from the bond, from _you._ ”

 

“Yes.” M’Baku bit out, “But . . .” he trailed off and looked down at the bracelet on T’Challa’s hand. “I should not have given you that.” He mused, a finger gently touching the intricate designs.

 

“What is it?” T’Challa asked, suddenly feeling breathless. Anticipation rose in his gut but he had to be sure. “Please M’Baku, what is it?”

 

M’Baku shuddered at his name passing T’Challa’s lips. “It is a sign of my intent.” He said raggedly. “A sign of my . . .”

 

“Affection?” T’Challa asked, hope blossoming in his chest. “Or more than that?”

 

M’Baku still would not look at him. “The Jabari do not wear jewelry except for special occasion.” He murmured. “Usually bracelets such as this,” He took in a deep breath. “are worn for only one reason.”

 

They were both quiet for a moment before T’Challa lifted his hand and used it to turn M’Bakus head, forcing him to meet his gaze. Then he asked the question he’d never dared to speak.

 

“For marriage, perhaps?” M’Baku could not look away, and T’Challa would have missed it if they had not been so close. M’Baku responded, barely a breath of an answer, but it was enough.

 

T’Challa crushed their lips together in a bruising kiss, expressing everything he had felt, _was feeling_ , into one moment, and M’Baku responded with equal fervor.

 

After long moments they pulled apart, breathing heavily. “And what does this mean, my King?” M’Baku asked after a moment, eyes guarded. T’Challa could see the walls that years of disagreements and isolation had created slowly rebuilding in M’Bakus eyes, and T’Challa quickly leaned forward and kissed him again to stop it.

 

“It means,” T’Challa said breathlessly when they broke apart. “That we will have a lot to discuss if I am to accept your proposal.”

 

M’Baku froze for a moment, then his eyes became comically wide at the realization of what was just said.

 

“You . . . accept . . . ?” He said dazedly, staring at T’Challa like he had never seen him before.

 

“Yes.” T’Challa confirmed. Then he laughed and brought M’Baku stunned face in for another fierce kiss.


End file.
